“I don’t really see how that’s the case.”
“Well, ‘worse’ would be something along the lines of letting you walk out that door. Because the man you just tried to hire is waiting half a block down to jump you, steal everything you own, and probably do a few worse things to you along the way.”
I blink. There are a million things swirling through my head, including several pints more blood than usual, thanks to the impromptu piggyback ride. It’s a confusing blur of cyanide and revenge plots, of Giana’s polished coffin, of disgusting martinis and men with thick necks and bars that only appear on shady Internet sub-forums and never, ever on a map that a normal civilian would come across.
All of that whirs and rolls like a slot machine until finally, my mouth is ready to output the next piece of the conversation.
Which, as befits someone with the gift of gab like myself, comes out as:
“Huh?”
B.E.B. is unamused. “Which part was unclear?”
“All of it? I don’t— Can you just— Say it again. Slower. Like I’m dumb.”
He puts both hands flat on the counter on either side of me. He’s not touching me, but he’s definitely close enough that I can’t exactly hop down and bolt. “The man you spoke to at the bar. Big. Ugly. Looks like someone drew a frowny face on a washing machine. Remember him?”
“Yeah. Mr. Refrigerator.”
B.E.B. doesn’t ask about the nickname. Then again, it’s kind of self-explanatory. “He left through the side exit about ten seconds after you got up to leave. He’s in the alley on the east side of the building. I’d bet good money he called some friends, too. They’re waiting for you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I watched him do it,” he answers. “And I can hardly blame him. You’d be the easiest cash he’s made in his whole fucking life. You might as well have put his name on a check and signed over your life’s savings.”
I want to argue. If we’re betting, then part of me would like to bet that B.E.B. here is just some creep running a slightly more complicated scheme than our mutual friend Mr. Refrigerator. He’s trying to scare me into staying here with him so he can do God knows what, so he can con me out of my money in a different way.
But there’s no smirk on his face. Not a single, solitary speck of amusement. He watches me, blue eyes burning, and waits for me to realize that he means every word he says.
“You’re serious,” I say at last.
“Very.”
“You’re not just— This isn’t some kind of pickup thing?”
“If I wanted to pick you up, I’d use a better line than ‘someone’s waiting to rob you in an alley.’”
Well… fair point. Though something tells me he doesn’t need cheesy lines to get any girl he wants.
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Okay. So let’s say I believe you. What now?”
“Now,” he says, straightening up tall, “you wait. Give it twenty minutes. He’ll get bored and leave.”
“And I’m just supposed to sit here on this gross counter until then?”
“You’re welcome to stand, if you prefer.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You think this is funny?”
“‘Stupid’ is the word I’d use. You strutted into a bar full of criminals and announced your intentions to the first stranger who’d listen. Yet somehow, you’re surprised that it went badly. So, yeah. ‘Stupid’ just about sums it up.”
“Wow. Uh, thanks, I think.” I hop off the counter and wipe my hands on my coat. Whatever was on that steel surface, I don’t want to know. But Iwouldlike to immerse myself in an industrial-sized vat of hand sanitizer, please and thank you. “Look, I appreciate the… whatever this is. Chivalry, I suppose. Though I question your methods. But I can handle myself.”
“I beg to differ.”
“How do I knowyou’renot trying to pull something?” I counter. “Maybe you and Mr. Refrigerator are working together. Good cop, bad cop. He scares me, you swoop in, and then?—”
“And then what? I carry you into a kitchen and lecture you about personal safety?”
